


Pressure

by Ahelpfulpeach



Series: She-Ra Canon Universe Stories [20]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Fluff, Just Touch As A Concept, Massage, POV Catra (She-Ra), Post-Canon, Sleepy Cuddles, Touching, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahelpfulpeach/pseuds/Ahelpfulpeach
Summary: "There’s a weight to even her gentlest, most absent minded caresses. There always has been. A hint of extra pressure, just beyond what she actually needs to use. Not forceful, likely not even completely conscious, just very… there. Very Adora. Immediately identifiable, familiar and comforting."
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: She-Ra Canon Universe Stories [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763977
Comments: 56
Kudos: 315





	Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> This is vague and untethered from the bounds of time and space, but we can just say it takes place about a year after the finale for those looking for timeline stuff. 
> 
> Been gone for a hot minute because all the ligaments and tendons and shit in my arms decided they HATE me. Which is not a fun time. So updates to this series (and potential AU things??? Cuz I have Ideas???) will be MUCH slower than in the past. And potentially in shorter form (might I actually make multi-chapter things? who knows? not I). Because a fic every couple days was. Uh. A lot. For my brain and body. Shooting for posting something maybe once a week, but it's really gonna depend on how my arms feel, especially with school starting up again late next month.
> 
> Anyway, have some soft.

Adora’s hands, gentle, stroking over her hair. Smoothing it against her head, over and over. Soft, repetitive movements with no real purpose beyond contact and comfort. Then, slowly, the feeling shifts, fingers combing through. Always careful, slowly working out tangles and snarls. Taking whatever time she needs to avoid pulling. A silent reminder that Adora wants to give her her time, her attention.Of words offered in sweet, awkward phrasing and a soft voice.That she deserves tenderness. That she deserves gentleness. That she deserves touch that isn’t punishment or correction or manipulation. Catra can close her eyes, let the intent, the sensation soothe her. She can, and often does, fall asleep like this.

All she needs to do is press into the touch, and the sensation changes. Adora’s nails, short and blunt, scratching over her scalp. Still light, but different. Slowly long, combing strokes turn to more concentrated, quick movements. Like she’s scratching an itch. Adora is good at this, practiced over years of their childhood, and relearned since their reunion. She’s patient, following the way Catra tilts her head to get her fingers in the right spots, staying until she’s satisfied. Until she moves her head, or asks for more.

For Adora’s fingertips, for focused pressure, following in the wake of her nails. There are moments when nothing feels like enough. Like her nerves are alight and she needs some input, some sensation, _something._ In these moments the firm pressure, directed in tiny circles, careful not to snag or tug her hair, is a balm. If she hasn’t started purring by then, Adora’s thorough massage triggers it every time. Over the crown of her head, around her ears, along the sides, down the back of her head, and back again, over and over until Catra gives her cue.

Until she pulls away or says something, or until she stretches out beside Adora, waiting. Sometimes Adora needs a moment to stretch her wrists. More than once, Catra has caught her just looking with soft eyes and a dorky smile. She can almost sense it, as if her gaze has a weight and warmth of its own. If she preens under it, well, who can blame her? Who wouldn’t feel proud to be wanted with that kind of loving intensity? Who wouldn’t, if only for a moment, feel those awestruck compliments held a shred of truth? _Beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, breathtaking._ Maybe, in that moment, she was.

Against her back, Adora’s hands make solid the weight and warmth her gaze hints at. There’s a pressure to even her gentlest, most absent minded caresses. There always has been. A hint of extra force, just beyond what she actually needs to use. Not rough, not demanding, likely not even completely conscious, just very… there. Very Adora. Immediately identifiable, familiar and comforting.

She moves slowly, deliberately, like she’s committing the sensations to memory. Catra wishes she could do the same, call up afterimages of the gentle warm-up strokes along her spine. Of the firm press of her hands at the small of her back. Of her thumbs and knuckles rolling along her shoulders. Of Adora’s legs bracketing her hips. Make the memory ease the sensation that spreads from her scalp.

But in this moment she doesn’t have to. Catra can squirm and press into each touch like her nerves seem to demand. She can savor the feeling of Adora’s hands and the sound of her delighted giggles. Savor the feeling of the kiss she presses between her shoulder blades before getting back to the massage. Savor the feeling of being present and grounded.

It’s hard to be anywhere else when Adora’s attention and hands are on her like this. She’s careful, observant, and almost always either hums or talks while Catra’s beneath her like this. On her stomach, unable to see her, or much of the world around her. Vulnerable. The first few times Adora offered a back rub, she couldn’t take it for long. Even when Adora sat to the side, leaving her entirely free to scramble away, it was that horrifying, disheartening, shameful brand of too much. Too intimate, too dangerous, too _good_.

Catra has torn that fear down over time, watched it crumble with a sense of triumph she never quite got from her war victories. She’s safe here. In Bright Moon. In her room. Among friends. With Adora. Home. She can offer trust, receive affection. She can bask in the thrill of it all, of Adora’s words and touch.

Adora’s hands move from her back, offering the same attention to her arms, then her legs and feet, as Catra allows it. She usually allows it. She knows Adora gets enjoyment out of this too, from being close, touching, just being together. It’s hard to miss the way her voice curls around her smile as she continues the massage. Or outside these moments, how she lights up when she sees Catra enter a room. The way she reaches for her hand, her shoulder, her waist- anything, really, almost unconsciously. It’s hard to miss, and impossible to ignore the warmth in her own chest each time she notices she’s wanted.

She also knows Adora gets restless, anxious if she’s not doing something for someone. If she’s relaxing when she could be giving. Someday, Catra hopes to convince her she’s allowed to do things for herself, to let go, to let others do things for her even if she doesn’t _need_ them to. For now though, if Adora can find some sense of purpose in these moments, in rubbing sore muscles, mapping her body, working her to a state of boneless comfort over the course of minutes or hours, it’s a far better alternative to getting herself hurt.

Plus, it feels _wonderful_.

Adora’s hands travel back to her shoulders when she finishes, running along her body as she goes, attentive to any movements, stopping to lavish more attention where needed. Which is _everywhere_. Even when her skin doesn’t itch with a need for contact, Catra is greedy for this freely offered affection and love. Soaks up everything she’s given. Basks in the warmth of it, of Adora’s hands, of the grin Adora can’t smother even as she tries to press kisses up her spine, against her cheek. Revels in that little reminder Adora does this because she wants to. Because she loves her.

And it’s almost painful how much Catra loves her back. An ache in her chest replaces the itch under her skin and she needs to move. To twist and catch those smiling lips with her own. To rub her cheek against her jaw. To mark her as _safe_ and _mine_ and _home_. To pull Adora into a too-tight embrace, feel for a moment that no one and nothing could take this away again.

Adora snuggles into the embrace, hums contentedly against her neck. A ticklish sensation Catra knows she does on purpose. Knows because she’s abused that ticklish spot ever since she found it. Knows because Adora always does that in these moments, pulls her back to reality with a squealing laugh. Where they actually are safe. Where she can attack Adora’s sides until they’re both red faced and breathless and sore from laughing too hard. As they settle, Catra finally relaxes fully under Adora’s touch once more.

Adora’s hands, solid and warm on her back, pulling her in, holding her. For someone so strong, the embrace is loose. It leaves her space to wriggle free, to leave. Trusts she won’t.

Adora’s nails scratching down her spine. The itch has dissipated, but the feeling is still nice. Purrs, stuttering with sleepiness, grow a little louder.

Adora’s fingertips, shifting to tracing patterns again. Ones she’s learned to recognize, at least in type. First One’s writing. The exact translation is lost on her, but Catra knows her well enough to guess the intent. To mouth her reply against Adora’s skin before allowing sleep to finally take her.

**Author's Note:**

> anyone else touch starved and sleepy in this Chili's tonight?  
> Apparently the height of romance is cuddling and falling asleep together. Since that is how half my fucking fics (and all but one of my fucking fics *ba dum tsh*) end. 
> 
> A little different in style from my other fics, and quite a fun little break from the usual. 
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr @ahelpfulpeach if you wanna chat :D


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